Fragments
by Teenwitch
Summary: A routine crime investigation turns horribly wrong, and the graveshift are forced to deal with the loss of one of their own. Some of them will handle it less destructively than others...
1. Default Chapter

  
  
Fragments  
Author: Teenwitch  
Disclaimer: CSI is the property of CBS, Anthony Zuicker, and Alliance Atlantis. No infringement intended whatsoever.  
Rating: PG-13 - Contains character death  
Summary: A routine crime investigation turns horribly wrong, and graveshift are forced to deal with the loss of one of their own. Some of them will handle it less destructively than others...

-

Grissom

Grissom left the sanctity of his office for the DNA lab with a certain level of reluctance, knowing that sooner or later, he would have to face Greg to retrieve the samples he had left with him earlier.

Shift was unusually slow these last few days, and he was enjoying the simple, methodical process of cataloguing his bug collection in the privacy of his office. The case he had was hardly pressing, and the DNA match would only solidify the concrete evidence they already had against the robbery suspect.

Catherine was on her day-off, and unlike him, needed little persuasion to spend some quality time at home. But then, unlike him, she had someone to spend it with.

Sara, Warrick and Nick were investigating a murder out in the Las Vegas National Park, which sounded like a shooting accident and nothing elaborate enough to require his three on duty CSIs. But he thought the three of them might explode if they were forced to remain cooped up in the office much longer, and he sacrificed the mildly interesting diversion of the field to their younger, nimble minds, attempting some paperwork instead.

His pager went off as he reached the door to his office, and he frowned as he read a '911' message from Catherine. He pulled out his cell phone, realising he had turned it off earlier when he had been concentrating on his work, and dialled her number, turning back from the lab and striding towards the break room.

"Gil?" Her voice was breathless and far away; she sounded like she was driving.

He frowned. "Where are you?"

"Why haven't you got your phone turned on?" she grilled, ignoring the question. "I've been trying to call you!"

"Catherine-"

"Brass called", she cut him off impatiently. "I'll meet you at the lab, so don't leave. He wouldn't give away any details, but he said to get to the National Park ASAP".

Grissom furrowed his brow, stopping in the doorway to the breakroom. A feeling of apprehension crept into his gut. "I thought the others had a handle on it?"

"I know... Gil, I'm worried. I think something's happened. Jim sounded... off. Look, I'm five minutes away, so sit tight, okay?"

She hung up, leaving Grissom to stare at the dead phone uneasily. He then checked his voicemail, and felt a cold chill as Brass's flat tone met his ears.

"Grissom, I don't know what you're doing, but we need you at the crime scene now. Atwater's already here... this place is a mess, Gil. I'm calling Cath... maybe she can get through to you. Look, I can't explain it now. Just... just get here, okay?"

The call cut out, and Grissom closed his cell, swallowing unsteadily. If both Brass and Catherine wanted him at the crime scene, something serious must be going on. Especially if the Sheriff needed to be involved. He clenched his fists unconsciously, drawing in a slow breath. And tried to tell himself it couldn't be nearly as terrible as it seemed.

-

Catherine was no cautious driver at the best of times, but Grissom was quite sure she broke several speed laws in her haste across town, and he was too plagued by anxiety to fear to his life as he usually might have.

The National Park was on the outer edges of Las Vegas, and even at Cath's frightful speed, they didn't reach it for a good forty minutes.

Flashing lights indicated a buzz of activity at what should have been a reasonably routine crime scene, and Catherine swerved to the side of the road, pulling up just short of hitting the bumper of a police car.

Yellow crime scene tape shielded the scene, and Grissom and Catherine ducked underneath, struggling to make out the darkened scene in the blinking blue and red emergency lights, and the frenzy of activity. Several paramedics strode by, and Catherine clutched his upper arm fiercely.

"Gil..."

He followed her gaze, ad instantly spotted Sara and Warrick huddled together against the back of an ambulance. EMTs seemed to be taking little notice of them, so he had to assume they were okay.

As they drew near, he realised Warrick, standing against the rear door, expression impassive, had his arm suspended in a white sling. Sara sat on the back on the ambulance tray with her knees to her chin, and a deep, nasty gash stood out on her forehead, hastily stitched closed by an EMT obviously in dire need elsewhere.

Grissom and Catherine hurried over, dodging between officers and detectives scouring the area, and both were so dazed it took Grissom's voice to snap them to attention.

"Guys?"

Warrick blinked, meeting his gaze. Sara barely looked up, concentrating intently at something on the ground.

Grissom was at a loss. He wanted to relieve the iron fist that had taken hold of his heart, but some instinct within did not yet allow him that release.

"Guys, what happened here?"

"Are you okay?" Catherine added abruptly, as though his first thought had not been their safety.

She moved over to Warrick. "Oh my God, your arm!"

Warrick shrugged her off, smiling in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's nothing. Just a scratch".

Sara didn't say anything. Catherine glanced at her uneasily. "Sara? You okay? Your head..."

"I'm fine", she said hollowly, still looking at the ground.

Grissom stared at her, unwilling to comprehend the thoughts slowly making themselves known in his head. He felt a sinking in his gut that had everything to do with her expression.

"Where's Nick?"

Sara jumped off the ambulance blindly, shoving past him before reaching the edge of the nature walk, and the sounds of her emptying her stomach somehow reached his ears of the unnatural hubbub around them.

Warrick's gaze darted away, studiously avoiding any contact with Grissom or Catherine's probing stares, and unconsciously landed on a vehicle behind them.

With excruciating slowness, Grissom found his way around the ambulance, and all sound dropped away completely, which could no longer be accounted to his hearing loss, as his attention fixated on that one, simple place.

The coroner's van was open at the back, and a white swathed figure slowly slid up onto it, moving with a fluid grace, like a dove fluttering into darkness.

Brass appeared in his view, and his lips moved, but Grissom heard no sound. He spoke again, and this time is words bore some sort of meaning, as his grim eyes met his with a weathered sort of wisdom that had seen too much, but that never got easier.

"I'm sorry, Gil".

Behind him, he was distinctly aware of Catherine sinking to her knees on the ground, sobbing unlike he had ever heard her.

Brass lowered his head, struggling to offer... something. Some measure of comfort. "There was nothing... nothing they could do".

Warrick knelt beside Catherine, trying to comfort her himself. Grissom started to move past Brass.

"Gil... I don't think you want to..."

Grissom stared at him with a deep intensity, and Brass quickly moved out of his way.

The coroner was a familiar face to him, but David only met his eyes briefly before ducking his head, not met with the wise, occasionally caustic supervisor of the graveyard shift, but with a grieving friend.

"Dr. Grissom I'm... I'm sorry. I h-have to take the body".

"Just a minute, David".

Without waiting for a response, Grissom knelt forward, and slid his fingers under the soft, white fabric. He could only look for a second at the unrecognisable figure beneath, before turning away, covering his face with his hand. David subtly covered up the body again, closing the doors with a bang of adverse finality.

"I'm sorry", he repeated sincerely and climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engine.

Grissom barely heard him, only questioning to himself how something so simple had been so effectively and swiftly taken out of his control.

-

TBC


	2. Chapter two

-

**Brass **

Brass had never felt such a haze when working through a case, and was aware of the ache in his knees giving him the strong, unusual urge to sit down, when he was usually used to working on his feet for hours at a time without it affecting him.

He gave curt answers to the media gathering at the yellow tape like dogs foaming at the mouth, eager to fill the sudden lull in criminal activity with a new story. He distributed orders to the loitering officers, shared words with Atwater and Ecklie, who had been dragged in to take over the case from the graveyard shift- none of whom had voiced one complaint in opposition.

He sighed, noting Grissom speaking tiredly to an officer. He mustered one final polite smile as the man departed, and remained unmoving where he was. Brass felt pity for the poor guy, who was forced to deal with politics when one of his CSIs was dead.

He hesitated, stopping in front of the grave shift supervisor, who looked as if he had aged ten years in the last fifteen minutes.

"Ecklie's here to take care of the media circus", he said quietly, indicating the growing mob of cameras with unequivocal distaste. "Most of his crew's already here." He looked down. "Your guys are pretty shook up. As far as I can tell, they were by themselves at the crime scene when the perp reappeared. He drew a gun, shot Warrick, knocked down Sara, and... Details are sketchy at best. Warrick did most of the talking and he was out longer than Sara." He hated relaying the facts so impersonally, like this was just another standard case, and he didn't have to remind himself to stay objective every second.

Grissom looked dazed, and nodded slowly. "Did they give you statements?"

Brass sighed. "Not formally, no. At this point, I don't think dayshift will care if we don't make it a priority. Warrick's co-operating but he didn't see much, and Sara isn't really talking at all. EMTs checked her out, but I think it's fairly obvious she's suffering shock." He met his friend's eyes, hating the deadness he saw in them. He struggled to remember what made this job worth it anymore.

"They're not needed around here. It'd be best if we got them home. None of them are in a real state to drive. Warrick can't, because of his arm, and Cath and Sara are... I'll take Rick, but maybe we should split the girls. Catherine's not much better than Sara, and I don't think I can handle both of them. Have a preference?"

Grissom stared at him, still really unable to say anything. Brass read the look in his eyes, and nodded with a grim understanding. "Sara", he murmured unnecessarily. He tacked on an end to the sentence quickly, hiding the undercurrent of significance in the word. He inwardly shook his head. Like he'd even had to ask.

"Probably best. Warrick can help me calm down Catherine. He's usually good with her." He said it like Catherine was a wild beast that needed subduing, and though he would normally feel happy to agree with the metaphor, now was hardly the time to say it. But there was no use retracting the statement. Grissom hadn't heard him anyway.

He patted him on the back sadly, wanting to offer some sort of support but uncertain how to convey it. "Nicky was a good kid", he said softly.

Then he strode off in search of the two CSIs, knowing just how unfit and inapt his words were. Nicky was a good kid. Yeah. And he was a good CSI. A good student. A good friend. Brass ran a hand tiredly over his eyes, spotting Warrick and Catherine sitting together in silence against the hood of his car, inadvertently gathered there by some wordless call. It was impossible to sum up the life of a human being so ineloquently. Yet Brass couldn't find the words to describe the significance Nick had had in their lives, or the pain his loss would cause them.

-


	3. Chapter three

-

Sara 

Sara was fairly sure no one noticed her in the darkness, and she was happy to leave it that way. To return to the others would be to endure the looks of sympathy and regret, or grief and unspoken accusation, and she couldn't handle that. After throwing up what had been the remainder of her dinner, she found herself safely cocooned at the base of a tree, and she was unwilling to move from its security.

She had lost sight of Warrick and Catherine when another police vehicle pulled up, and Grissom had disappeared into the crowd some time ago, to fulfil his role as supervisor, no doubt. No one had come looking for her, so she had to assume they weren't allowed to leave yet. Her insides were screaming to get as much distance as possible between her and the glassy, lifeless eyes of the man who had been her friend, and who had died in front of her eyes.

She stared hollowly at the earth, willing it to swallow her in its mossy depths, and to return Nicky in her place.

"Sara?"

She took a long time to glance up, and when she did, she realised Grissom stood above her. In the dim artificial lights she could see his face was pale, and his blue eyes weary and void of all warmth. She looked away again.

He crouched down in front of her, leaves crunching under his feet. She felt warmth on her arm, and realised he was touching her. "Sara. Do you want to go home now?"

She frowned, forcing herself not to look at him. She didn't want to see his eyes. "I didn't drive here. We were driven by... My car's back at the lab".

"It's okay. I'll drive you".

Sara blinked, unable to avoid his gaze any longer. The depth of his sadness scared her, and her eyes moistened.

His hand slid into hers, and he gave her a gentle tug. "Come on".

She allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, and followed Grissom passively, purposefully ducking her head as they passed through the waning crowds of officers and Ecklie's dayshift team.

_They all blame you. This is your fault._

It occurred to her that Grissom was holding her hand in public, but it seemed the farthest thing from his mind. The gesture held none of the significance she used to hope it would, and she couldn't bring herself to care.

He opened the car door for her, obviously uncertain how to react to her silence. Catherine, hysterical and crying, was certainly not within his abilities to deal with- maybe that was why he had agreed to take her. At least if she bottled it all inside she wouldn't have to face his disapproval at how she was dealing with it.

She was silent on the drive, and he didn't encourage her to talk. When he pulled up in front of her house, he cut the engine, turning to glance at her uncertainly. Sara stared straight ahead, swallowing harshly, forcing her words to come out steadily and emotionlessly. "Thanks for the ride, Grissom".

"Sara..."

Involuntarily, she was drawn to look at him, coming out of her haze long enough to glimpse how this was effecting him. Nick had been special to him. Everyone knew Warrick was his favourite CSI, but that didn't diminish Nick's importance. He had been a protégée, an apprentice to teach and be proud of.

"Do you want me to stay for a while?"

She glanced at him, wanting to curl up and cry. Didn't he understand she couldn't keep up this façade in front of him much longer? She had almost lost it at the crime scene, and now she was forced to keep it up in the privacy of her own home.

But something in his eyes made her hesitate to reject the offer. She knew what Grissom was like. For him to reach out on his own like this was a huge sacrifice on his part. It wasn't his nature to share and console. They were too similar in that respect.

She lowered her head, hair curtaining around her face. "Okay", she whispered softly.

He locked his car, trailing behind her to the door. Sara strode inside, uncomfortably aware of his closeness behind her, and headed directly for the kitchen alcove. "Do you want some coffee?" she asked falteringly. "I'll make some coffee". She opened cupboards, scrambling around for mugs.

"Sara", Grissom said gently.

She continued her perusal. It was easier than acknowledging his presence. When she didn't react he moved around the counter, unconsciously sliding his hands over her wrists to stop her movements.

"Sara", he said again. "I don't want any coffee".

Sara blinked up at him, then looked down at their hands, where he still held them. He slowly released her, clearing his throat. "Maybe you should get some rest".

Tears sparked in her eyes, and she looked away. "I can't rest. I've been doing enough of that today".

Like watching, waiting, as Nick moved towards him, as Nick... 

"Sara..."

She wished he would stop repeating her name like that. Like a mantra to some crazy person. She took a step back, running her hands through her hair. "I saw him, you know", she said bluntly.

When Grissom didn't blink, she continued, dissatisfied with his lack of reaction. "Warrick shouted, but I'd already seen him. I saw him and I didn't do anything. Then he knocked me down, and I couldn't move. I saw what he was going to do to Nick, what he did... I saw him die and... I didn't stop it."

A broken sob tore from her throat, and she backed against the cupboards, sliding weakly to the floor until her knees met with her chin. She couldn't breathe. The sobs broke free from her throat, choking her with their intensity. Her shoulders heaved, and the pain was just. So. Much.

She felt warm flesh on her knees, and Grissom's soothing voice, far away to her ears. She didn't think about it, and leant into him, burying her face against his chest.

"Honey, this wasn't your fault."

She focused on his gentle, healing strokes on her back until she could breathe again, and she leant away from him, her head resting against the kitchen cupboards.

"That doesn't change the fact that Nick's dead".

He looked away, instinctively rubbing his thumb against her knee. "No, it doesn't. But he wouldn't want this."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, staying silent.

Grissom sighed. "Come on. You need some sleep".

"I can't", she said helplessly. She hated feeling so exposed to him, but she would rather do anything but _that_. "I'll dream about it. I can't... I can't".

Grissom watched her, looking as though he was fighting an inner battle. She wondered what he could possibly be thinking. He was acting completely uncharacteristically. Things hadn't been the same between them for a while, and for a moment there it had seemed like he'd been entirely willing to bridge all those gaps, and allow himself to show some aspect of emotion. She was expecting him to retract back into himself any minute now.

"I'll stay with you".

She blinked at him, a little disbelievingly.

"You'd... _do_ that?"

He rose slowly to his feet, offering her a hand. "Come on".

Sara straightened haltingly, still staring at him doubtfully. Her bedroom was the second door down the hall, and she awkwardly removed her shoes, watching him as he did the same. She crawled onto the bed, rolling on her side. Grissom gently lay down beside her. He hesitated, and then cocooned her against him, resting his arm on her waist.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on the contact she would once have savoured, instead of the canopy of nightmarish images flashing before her eyes.

-


	4. Chapter four

-

**Catherine**

For the first time since she was a rookie, Catherine refused to make eye contact with anyone as she strode into the lab. She kept her gaze plastered firmly ahead, clutching her handbag to her side like a security blanket.

She could feel the probing, sympathetic gazes as she passed the reception, but she refused to waver in her step.

Cavallo had reluctantly agreed to a single day of mourning for the graveyard shift, but one day was all they could afford. Day and swing shift did not have the manpower to cover five people's active accumulation of cases.

Catherine felt a brief surge of satisfaction as she glimpsed her reflection in the Trace Lab windows, to note that her eyes were completely dry and her make-up flawless. On the exterior at least, she was the same Catherine Willows she had been two days ago.

She hadn't spoken to the others since Warrick and Brass took her home that night. She slowly passed Grissom's office, unconsciously softening the fall of her heels on the floor. The door was closed, but a sliver of light was visible underneath. So he was in. She drew in a breath, and continued to the locker room. She couldn't deal with his emotional deficiencies right now. Odds were he was closing himself off like he always did, and she didn't have the energy to convince him how unhealthy that was.

Gil Grissom was ever constant in his ideals and behaviour and she didn't think Nick's death would change that. If anything, it would probably only enforce it. Grissom had only one way of dealing with heightened emotions- hiding them.

She ran a hand over her eyes wearily, exhausted before she had even started for the night, and turned into the locker room. And stopped in the doorway.

Greg Sanders sat on the middle bench, his toes skimming the floor like a child. His eyes were focused on some far-off point ahead of him, but she didn't think he was seeing anything.

She cleared her throat, letting him know of her presence. "Hey", she said quietly.

Greg glanced up vaguely as she circled around him, twisting the lock of her combination.

"Hey", he muttered distractedly.

She turned her back to him, prolonging the activity by carefully and lengthily removing the contents of her bag and placing them unnecessarily into her locker.

"Do you think he'll be buried here?" Greg asked after the silence threatened to suffocate the room. She could practically see his blue eyes piercing her back questioningly. "Or in Texas?"

Catherine's eyes squeezed shut painfully, and she slowly wheeled around to face him. God. She was inwardly shocked by his appearance. His clothes were rumpled and mismatched, and not intentionally like he usually might have done in a bid to gather attention. His hair was mussed up in unruly spikes, like he hadn't even brushed it since waking up, and dark rings circled his eyes. He looked haggard and tired, and she wanted to cry to see lively, outgoing Greg Sanders reduced to such a state.

"I don't know", she said softly, forcing her voice not to wobble.

Greg seemed oblivious to her discomfort, and went on haphazardly, babbling almost incoherently. "Because I'd want to be there, y'know? I mean it only seems fair it'd be here. This was Nick's home, not Texas. If it was there, I wouldn't be able to say anything. I think I should say something, I mean Nick would've appreciated it, wouldn't he? Why should he be buried there when everyone who knows him is here-?"

"Greg!" Catherine snapped, voice breaking.

His mouth snapped shut, and he gazed up at her pitifully. "Do you think he suffered?"

She lowered her head, sagging her body against the locker bank. "I don't know", she murmured honestly.

Greg blinked at her sadly. For once, he really looked as young as he acted.

"Sara was there, right?" he asked suddenly. "I mean she would know, wouldn't she? If I asked her, she could tell me, because I really just need to-"

"I don't think that would be a very good idea, Greg", Catherine said a little more coldly than she had intended.

Greg stopped, closing his eyes tightly. "God, I can't believe I just said that".

He rose to his feet, avoiding her gaze. "I think I'm just gonna get back to work..."

"Hey". She placed a hand gently on his upper arm. She felt a tremble run through him. Their eyes made contact, and he nodded slightly, ducking his head as he strode away. Catherine sighed and closed her locker, bracing herself for the break room.

-

Grissom handed out assignments with carefully practised speech, and for once, there were no complaints about who got the trick roll or standard 9/11 robbery. Catherine took the time to observe each member of the team, which had become increasingly like her extended family.

Warrick sat to her right, on the chair closest Grissom, and his eyes were focused stoically on their leader, as if looking for some sort of reaction rather than listening to his information.

Greg was on Grissom's other side, and had his gaze riveted to the ballpoint in his hand, which he jiggled tensely. His features were tight and emotions laid bare for all to see and it didn't take any level of perception to see he was a nervous wreck.

Sara was last, beside Greg, and she also kept her eyes studiously down, focusing intently on her assignment folder. Catherine noticed Grissom similarly kept his gaze from drifting in her direction, and she narrowed her eyes slightly. What was going on there?

They all knew Sara had seen it all, and was probably repressing the entire event. Add Grissom's constant shift in behaviour into the mix, and she was going to snap. It wasn't a question of if.

Grissom cleared his throat, obviously prepared to adjourn the meeting and flee to his office. "Any questions?"

Warrick lifted his head. He looked unusually calm. "Yeah", he said flatly. "I do. Do we have the guy yet?"

No one needed to ask what guy Warrick referred to. Grissom's expression remained carefully blank, but Catherine could see something flicker behind his eyes and she could tell he didn't like loosing his controlled grasp of the situation.

"Ecklie says his guys are looking into it", Grissom said slowly.

Warrick's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "So in other words they have squat."

Grissom sighed. Obviously he had not been expecting this sort of objection from his favourite CSI- the one he considered most like him. "Warrick-"

"No", Warrick interrupted coldly. "Damn it, Grissom, dayshift aren't even trying on this! I think I speak for everyone here when I say we want closure on this damn thing. We gave them the evidence, and eyewitness accounts. We nearly had the case before they came in and tramped on it!"

Grissom bowed his head. "I understand your frustration", he said carefully. "But there's not much more we can do. We have to trust Ecklie to-"

"Are you hearin' this?" Warrick snapped, glancing at the rest of them in disbelief. "I can't believe I am hearin' this! _Trust Ecklie?_ There's a sentence that inspires comfort!"

"Warrick's right, Grissom", Catherine spoke up softly. "I think we'd all feel better with one of our team on the case."

Grissom glanced at her sharply, like she was turning on him too. "You know I can't do that. It's a conflict of interest-"

Catherine could feel her own insides boiling. "Screw conflict of interest!" she snapped loudly, screeching back her chair as she rose to eye level with him. "Have them consult, or not handle evidence. Whatever! We _need_ to be in on this! You can push for this. They won't shut us out. This is one of our own, Grissom. It's _Nick_".

She let a vast amount of weight fall into the last word. Grissom met her gaze squarely. She could see the hidden pain behind his eyes and wished he would just realise it was _okay_ to show it.

"Okay", he said softly. "Who wants to do it?"

Silence encompassed the room as they each gazed questioningly to each other. Greg remained quiet, knowing it stood between the four experienced CSIs. Warrick pursed his lips. Sara quietly climbed from her chair, snatching her assignment folder before striding straight from the room.

Grissom pressed his lips together, watching her go in the corner of his eye. He closed his briefly, and she wondered what the hell he had done there. Catherine sighed deeply. As soon as she suggested it, she had known whom it was going to fall to.

"I'll do it", she murmured.

Warrick's shoulders sagged, relived. Greg nodded, looking happy with the choice.

Grissom met her gaze. "Are you sure you're up to this?" he asked cautiously.

Catherine nodded slowly, staring back at him with unbridged intensity. "We need to know", she said firmly. "We need to".

-


	5. Chapter five

-

**Warrick**

Warrick drifted down the bustling hall of the lab with quiet deliberation. He peered through the individual glass walls, when a thought struck him and he followed on a hunch.

He remembered Sara telling him once she found the Drying Room peaceful. He craned open the door, sighing slightly when he noticed her hunched form in the dim interior, leant between two drying racks. She was staring blankly at some void on the opposite wall, and didn't blink when he quietly closed the door behind him, interrupting her retreat.

"You all right, girl?" he questioned gently, standing beside pone rack of clothing.

Sara glanced him briefly, shrugging noncommittally. "Sure", she muttered vaguely.

He ducked his head, blowing out a deep breath, and placed one hand one the cool steel frame beside him.

"You know, I haven't slept since it happened", he started casually, meeting his eyes and looking away. "Not properly. First night I just knocked myself out with a good old bottle of Jack D, but since then I haven't been able to touch a bottle. I just... work. Been here a shift already, even though Grissom said we didn't have to come in. I keep wondering how it would have gone if I reacted differently. If I moved before Nick did; if I got out my gun in time. None of them work very well. I either see him dead, or me, or you, and as hard as I try, I can't find a way that would have made things better".

He gazed at her again, allowing her to see the raw pain behind his eyes. He wanted her to understand she wasn't the only one going through this, that he was wracked with guilt too. But he also wanted to share the burden, to release some of the pain with someone who would understand. Call it survivor's solidarity. "Sara, at the end of the day, there's nothing we could have done to change it. Not really. Nick knew what he was doing. I think he knew that... if one of us had to die, he was going to make sure it was him and not us. He finally got to be the hero he wanted to be."

Sara blinked rapidly, nodding slightly. Somehow, she managed to smile at him wanly. "Thanks, Warrick".

He shrugged. "Anytime you wanna talk, just let me know. The others might not get it, but I do and you know that."

She nodded, swallowing hoarsely. "Yeah". She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand hastily. "Who's taking the case?"

Warrick glanced at her, wondering if she'd agree with the unanimous decision or not. She and Catherine had always had their differences. "Cath said she'd do it".

Sara straightened, nodding again, seemingly satisfied. "Good".

"Yeah, everyone else was happy with it. I kind of thought Griss would want it though", he mused absently.

Her eyes looked glazed and she glanced at something over his shoulder. "Yeah", she said quietly. "Me too".

He shrugged it off. "But you know Grissom. He hasn't shown an ounce of emotion since the night Nick died".

Sara scoffed softly. "Yeah".

Warrick levelled her with a look. He hadn't missed their interaction, or careful lack to speak of, in the breakroom. "So something going on between you two?"

Sara narrowed her eyes slightly. "What do you mean?"

Warrick had to roll his eyes. He really did. Did she think they were all oblivious to her and Grissom's constant displays?

"Ignoring the tension that went on between you two months before the promotion that I think we all know had nothing to do with it, you were both packing some pretty serious vibes in there, Sara".

Sara's spine grew rigid, and her eyes went coldly blank. He realised mentioning the promotion and then Grissom had destroyed the temporary rapport between them, and he inwardly swore.

"I think I should get back to work", she said flatly, bumping his shoulder as she stalked past him and through the door.

He pounded his fist against the nearby wall, releasing some of his pent up frustrations. "Damn!" he hissed quietly.

He had spoken about a situation they had all on numerous occasions agreed was sensitive and ultimately taboo with either party, without even thinking about it. "Nice work, Brown", he grunted to himself irritably.

He could just see Nick shaking his head, ready to call him on pissing off Sara, again. It was his first instinct to tell the Texan about it. He closed his eyes, covering his face with his hand.

Nick's sarcastic comebacks and playful bets were something he had taken for granted, and which just didn't exist anymore. For the first time since he was a kid, and he was left alone in the world, he felt a single tear slide down his cheek, and graze his shirt.

He lowered his head, drawing in a deep, calming breath. "Damnit, Stokes, why'd you have to do this to us?"

-

TBC...


	6. Chapter six

-

**Greg **

Greg sat quietly in the back seat of the Denali, staring at the buzzing Strip as the multitude of colours swirled together in the darkness, whizzing by rapidly. He was relieved when they hit the more conservative suburbs, and he was no longer forced to catch the fleeting glimpses of people in the prime of life, having a great time and seizing their youth. Had Nick seized his youth? Did he do everything he wanted to do?

They hadn't discussed it much, but Greg knew Nick wanted to settle down soon, raise a family. He always wanted a big family, Greg remembered that. He was the youngest of seven siblings, and had always loved having so many people looking out for him.

Now he'd never get to do that.

Greg sighed, risking a glance to the front of the vehicle. Gil Grissom kept his attention focused firmly on the road ahead, features stoic and impassive. Beside him, Sara was equally silent, gazing out the window like Greg had been.

On a normal day, Greg would have been bouncing off the walls in a show of hyperactivity, eagerly anticipating the upcoming scene and firing a hundred and one questions at the two more experienced CSIs.

Even if he had retained his usual energy, he didn't think he wanted to break the silence amid the two, who had developed some sort of impenetrable barrier between them.

Fifteen minuted after leaving the lab, Grissom pulled to the curb in front of an isolated Bed and Breakfast, which clearly relied purely on tourist patron ship for its survival.

The three of them quietly retrieved their kits, striding up the walkway to the entrance, a tacky archway painted around a plain white door.

In the front lobby crime scene tape had been plastered around the front desk, and plump, stockinged legs were visible behind it, lying horizontal.

David Phillips was crouched over the body, and was obviously relieved the desk hid him somewhat, because he bobbed his head awkwardly at them, eyes quickly darting away.

Greg remembered hearing he'd been the one called to collect Nick's body, and felt genuine sympathy for the guy.

The officer on duty had a radio clipped to his belt that was constantly going off, and beside him stood Jim Brass, quietly waiting for them.

"Hey", he acknowledged, eyes skimming over them all carefully. They stayed particularly long on Sara, who refused to meet his concerned gaze, perusing the crime scene firmly.

Brass sighed. "Janitor called it in". He gestured vaguely to a Hispanic man beside the officer, who looked like the concept of a shower was foreign to him. Considering his line of work, Greg found that kind of ironic.

"The victim's the desk clerk and owner, uh, Carol Hudson", he said, consulting his notebook. "Apparently they only have once customer staying here right now, but he's conveniently absent. Got an APB out on him now. It's a family business. Used to be booming, back in the '80's, but since the parents died, things have gone downhill."

Grissom nodded, ducking under the yellow tape to meet David.

Greg hesitated, standing by Sara indecisively. Grissom had barely remembered his presence, and no doubt forgot he was supposed to give the rookie instructions.

Brass obviously noticed this task had been left up to Sara without her consent, and regarded her carefully, obviously troubled. "You okay, kiddo?" he asked softly.

Sara nodded impassively,. Ducking her head. She gestured to Greg. "Stand where I stand, okay Greggo?"

It had been repeated to him a thousand times, but he chose not to point that out, and followed her silently.

"... time of death was about 3:00, maybe 4:00", David reported.

Grissom moved, allowing Greg his first glimpse of the body.

She was in her mid-thirties, early forties maybe, with thin strands of grey already forming in her hair. His gaze was unconsciously drawn to her face. She was deathly pale, almost a faint blue, and had a nasty hole blown to the right side of her face, cleanly removing her ear and part of her cheek. Dark black blood pooled the floor under her head and he could glimpse bone fragments and brain matter spilling out around it...

Greg felt the nausea building up inside him and staggered backward, before he could control it. He scrambled blindly under the crime scene tape, nearly tripping as he hastily flew down the front steps and making it to the surrounding nature strip before he emptied the contents of his stomach.

He braced himself against the fence with one hand; dry heaving when nothing else came up.

All he could think of was Nick. Nick's cold body sinking against the ground... his bullet wound, so bad no recognition of his face was left... the blood...

He felt a hand gently touch his back and flinched, realising Sara had followed him outside. He waved her off, sagging against the fence with a deep, consuming shudder.

"Greg!"

His head whipped up, and he realised Grissom was not far behind. The supervisor looked pissed, and glared at Greg as he stalked to them furiously.

"What was _that?! _I can't have you coming in and compromising our crime scene, Greg! If you can't handle it, then maybe you should just stay back at the lab!"

"Grissom", Sara admonished quietly, looking shocked.

Greg felt the fury he could no longer contain building up inside him, and he straightened to his full height, happy to finally have an outlet to pour it into. He didn't try to dispel it, instead calling it forth, allowing the words to spew from his mouth in rage. "I COULDN'T HELP IT!" he exploded vehemently. "I went in there and all I saw was Nick! How can you stand there and act like it didn't happen?! Don't you feel ANYTHING?! Do you EVEN CARE that he's dead? You walk around like a ROBOT and think were strange when we FEEL SOMETHING! Come on, Sara; TELL ME I'M WRONG! Like you haven't been thinking it too, like we _all_ haven't been thinking it! I saw how he was treating you back there. Well I'm SORRY I can't handle it, Grissom, but MY FRIEND IS DEAD!"

He kicked a trashcan beside him, sending it toppling to the ground. Sara jumped in fright, and Grissom stared at him in disbelief.

Greg scoffed. "You know what, SCREW THIS! Process your own damn scene!"

He knew it wasn't the wisest career move to explore at his boss, but he wouldn't handle it anymore.

He stormed past Sara, uncertain exactly where he was going, but knowing her had to get away from THERE.

Sara glanced at Grissom unwaveringly at Greg's departure, and he stared back at her, unable to say anything.

She pursed her lips, and followed in Greg's footsteps, leaving him alone in the dark yard.

-

A.N. Thanks for all the feedback guys, keep it coming. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, because hey, it's Greggo. I hope you liked it. As for the next few chapters, I'm working up to the funeral soon, and I'm trying to decide who should do the eulogy. Who do you think it should be?


	7. Chapter seven

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**Sara**

Evidence collection was undertaken in the most unnaturally silent, electrified atmosphere Sara had ever experienced, and considering her history of unresolved sexual tension with Grissom in the first place, that was taking a lot of prior situations into consideration.

Whether or not Brass and the officer had heard Greg's outburst remained a mystery, because Grissom's expression as he returned to the lobby absolutely dissuaded any attempt at discussion.

For her part, Sara kept her careful mask of indifference in place, collecting samples and dusting over the front desk for prints. The process itself was soothing and routine, and inadvertently allowed her attention to wander.

Brass must have seen something in her face when she stalked inside, and had opened his mouth to speak when Grissom tersely strode in after her. Neither had acknowledged Greg's absence and Brass hadn't asked, but she could practically see his brain ticking over, and was relieved when he left to follow up on the missing patron.

Sara glanced at Grissom in the corner of her eye, where he was perched on the ground near the opposite wall, examining something carefully.

For some reason, she could see something off in his posture, and realised Greg's explosion had actually affected him.

He had barely spoken to her in more than a professional context since the night he took her home, and even that was limited. She had been expecting awkwardness the morning after, of course. How else would Grissom cope with such a subtle act of intimacy? But when she woke, the space beside her on the bed was empty and long cold, and it was obvious he was unwilling to face up to his brief lapse of judgement.

Since then he had emotionally shut down, as if punishing himself for feeling for another human being, and shutting off all semblance of a connection to the one who had brought it out. It hurt, a lot. But mostly it just made her very, very tired, and she felt her own defensive mechanism kicking in. She had her own ways of closing off.

She'd had all sorts of ideals, about justice and life. She had never been so personally connected to death before and it was like a punch in the stomach for all she believed in when the reality of the situation sunk in. If Nick wasn't safe- kind, endearing Nick, who saved people every day because it was what he wanted to do, then who was?

Being a CSI for her was like a way to seek constant enlightenment, to prove to herself that there was some system of justice in the world- that the bad guys did occasionally get what was coming to them. For Grissom it was his life because he had dedicated himself to something he could hide in. For Catherine it was an ambition.

Nick wanted to help people. Perhaps the most righteous reason of all. And now he was gone.

If death suddenly made life seem so menial, so utterly meaningless, then what was the point?

She started packing up her kit, retreating into the fresh night air for the silent, welcoming solace of the Tahoe, to wait for Grissom. She leant her head against the cool window, eyes scanning over the shadowy B & B and its neighbouring buildings, each with a certain level of tackiness she had long since recognised was completely unique to Vegas.

She wondered where Greg had gone. She felt a brief surge of anxiety for him, before she reasoned he had his cell phone on him, and would call if there was any trouble. She glanced at Grissom fleetingly as his figure moved nonchalantly down the front stairs, then back out into the murky street.

_Well, he might_, she corrected inwardly.

She felt Grissom glance at her as he got behind the wheel, before starting up the engine. She kept her head against the glass, resisting the urge to close her eyes as the steady hum of the engine soothed her into rest, unable to stifle a deep sigh as the feelings of tension and discomfort once again invaded the small space around them.

"You really think that I don't feel anything, don't you?" he said quietly.

She was so accustomed to the silence his voice startled her.

His gaze remained planted ahead on the road, and she slowly lifted hers to glance at him, blinking. She was almost sure she had imagined it.

"What do you expect us to think, Grissom?" she replied softly, once she had recovered.

He hesitated for a long moment, and she could see what he was about to say was a significant admission for him. "Just because I'm not public about my emotions, doesn't mean they're not there".

She scoffed, unable to help it, and turned back out the window. "I'm sorry, we're too public?" she hissed. "How about showing _anything_, Grissom? How do you think it makes us feel when our supervisor can't even show he cares when one of us _dies_?"

"You really believe that?"

"I don't know what to believe, Grissom", she muttered tiredly.

Silence infused the air between them again.

When she was certain the subject was closed between them again, Grissom's voice broke the stillness. "I want you to know something, Sara", he murmured, voice hoarse with emotion. "I've been doing this job for a long time. Much longer than you have. Everyone deals with the things we see in their own way. I close off because I have to. It becomes a coping mechanism and after a while, I can't help it. Nick was a member of my team and I care that he died. So don't you dare _ever_ accuse me otherwise."

Sara swallowed, nodding slowly, because it was all she could do.

"Well maybe you should find a different way of dealing with it instead of taking it out on us."

He didn't have an answer for that, but she hadn't really expected him to. "Or me", she couldn't help but mutter under her breath. She was hardly in the mood to be sympathetic for him at the moment, when he had only regretted the small portion of compassion he had shown her.

A flicker of emotion passed over his face. He licked his lips. "Sara-"

Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by the shrill, piercing noise of his cell phone in the pocket of his jacket. Sara inwardly scoffed at its timing, turning back to gaze out at the moving scenery outside. She wondered if the universe was continually plotting against her, or if she just had really bad luck.

Grissom whipped out his cell with one hand on the steering wheel, not caring that he broke several road laws in the process. "Yeah?" he said harshly. He sighed deeply. "What is it, Catherine?"

Sara couldn't help but glance at him, face illuminated dimly in the streetlight, as he listened to his friend's long-winded explanation, and his fingers seemed to clench on the steering wheel with each word, turning his knuckles white. His whole expression darkened, and if Sara had believed Gil Grissom capable of violence, she would have been very afraid at that moment. As it was she was becoming increasingly uneasy that he was the one behind the wheel.

"I don't care", he said coldly. "Hold him on whatever charges you can get".

Sara felt a cold swell of dread overcome her, and she swallowed apprehensively as she strained to make sense of the tinny voice coming from the other end of the line. Grissom narrowed his eyes. "Fine", he barked, crushing the phone closed in his fingers.

He tossed it on the dashboard, not bothering to replace it in his pocket, and obviously realised Sara was staring at him.

He glanced at her, then back at the road. "They have a suspect", he said bluntly.

Sara could still vividly feel the cold, hard impact of steel to her cheek, and rubbed the area he had hit her unconsciously, where nary a bruise remained. She realised with cold hard dread that if it came to a court case, she would have to be the one to identify him, to describe the whole event with sickening, precise detail. She had always thought as a trained investigator remembering the scene of a crime would come easily, but to actually experience it was another thing entirely.

She drew in a deep, unsteady breath, clutching the side of her door. "Grissom, pull over the car."

He glanced at her sharply, and she drew in each coming breath laboriously. She knew she was going to start hyperventilating soon, and she did not want to be around him if she did.

"What—?"

"_Pull over the car_!"

He swerved to the curb, and she was briefly thankful they were still on the outskirts of Vegas' industrial suburbs as she launched out of her door, without waiting for him to cut the engine.

She slumped down onto the curb, ducking her head between her knees as she struggled to regain control of her breathing.

She heard the car door slam as Grissom followed her out, but she ignored him, staring at the bitumen until she felt the shudders running through her body stop, and she could breathe easily again.

She lifted her head, brown hair falling in a curtain around her face, and he hovered above her uncertainly.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine", she snapped coldly, not making a move to stand.

In her mind's eye she could still picture Nick's bloody, unrecognisable body perfectly, yet the suspect's face remained a blur. She wouldn't be able to identify him. She couldn't remember his face. Nick's killer would go walking free in the streets because she couldn't remember his face.

She put her hands over her face, breathing in shakily. "I can't remember him".

She could practically see Grissom frowning perplexedly, and sighed, looking up at him slowly. "Nick's… killer. I can't… remember what he looked like".

Grissom had folded his arms, and kept his distance from her, leaning carefully against the side of the Tahoe, out of fear for her reaction, or self-preservation, she wasn't sure. "You weren't the only one there."

She shook her head. "Warrick… he went down so fast, I'm not sure he would have seen anything. I… watched the whole thing, but I can't remember his face. _Why_ can't I remember, Grissom? I saw _everything_".

His expression remained blank, but she could see a flicker of pain flash behind his blue eyes as he quickly looked away from her, and she realised that he did care, even if he did have trouble showing it.

He stared at something on the ground near her feet, but she stared at him intensely, waiting for him to speak.

"I think your mind probably blocked it out. It's a symptom of shock, Sara. If you see him…"

Sara inwardly retracted at the thought, and put her hand on the rough bark of the small tree behind her, hoisting herself to her feet. "What if I don't _want_ to remember?" she hissed softly, feeling her throat tighten. She had enough nightmares already. She did not need a face to go with the pictures in her mind.

He finally looked up, staring at her with quiet intensity. "If you don't, then Nick will never get justice. Can you live with that?"

She closed her eyes, slowly stepping around him towards her door. He turned around to face her, barely moving from his position, and she found herself staring up at him, pinned between him and the car, his face so close to hers she could feel his warm breath on her cheek and smell the musky odour of his aftershave.

She swallowed. "Of course I couldn't".

His eyes pierced into hers for a long, silent moment, and she felt the tension coil off his broad frame. Her own back had unconsciously pressed up against the sleek exterior of the passenger door, and he had made no move to rectify the appropriate distance between them.

"Good", he said, at last, in a low, hoarse voice. He stepped away from her, and she felt the loss of his body heat immediately. He still stared at her with an intensity she found unsettling and exhilarating at the same time, and began to move around to his side of the car.

"We have to get back to the lab".

She hesitated, even after he climbed in on his side, frowning ever so slightly. She wasn't sure exactly what had just happened there. She almost sensed Grissom was about to reach out to her, both physically and emotionally, but he had pulled back into his shell just as quickly, like she had expected him to. Still, the moment had caught her so off guard she found herself momentarily unbalanced, and she quickly shook it off, climbing into the car beside him.

---

TBC…


	8. Chapter eight

A.N. Hey thanks guys, for the feedback, and thanks to someone for mentioning that the events surrounding Nick's death need to be cleared up. I hope you enjoy. I should be posting a few more chapters in the next few days.

---

**Brass**

Through the observation glass window, Brass had his first clear, unobstructed view of their suspect. He had thin, sallow features, and a smattering of day-old stubble over his cheeks. _Probably had a few things to worry about, these last few days_, Brass thought distastefully.

The suspect's slitted, dark black eyes darted over the glass wall for a long, measured moment, as if knowing that someone was there, watching him, before returning to the empty chair across the institutional steel table.

The door to the observation room slid open softly, just as Catherine and the day shift CSI assigned to the case strode into the interrogation room with Detective Marlow.

Brass peeled his gaze away from their entrance, frowning slightly as Warrick stood quietly beside him, arms folding over his chest.

"You shouldn't be in here, Rick", he said, sighing.

Warrick kept his gaze riveted ahead, features twisted in an unreadable mask almost identical to the one Grissom had perfected. "You gonna ask me to leave?"

Brass clenched his jaw, returning his gaze to the other room resignedly. Warrick knew as well as he did there was no way he was kicking him out. Brass really shouldn't be there any more than him. But he needed to know. He needed to see that bastard's face.

He quietly turned on the audio panel, and listened.

"Mr. Tyler", Catherine started, features schooled into a perfect visage of composure. They had managed to hold him for several hours on a traffic charge before securing a warrant for his apartment. Brass knew Catherine well enough to guess that they had something on him now.

"We have evidence that places you at the Las Vegas National Park on Thursday night. Would you care to explain that?"

Tyler stared back at her unwaveringly. "I'm a ranger at the wildlife reserve. I'm there a lot".

"At night?"

Tyler leaned back in his chair casually. "Yeah, sometimes. I like to peg out tourist hikes. Sometimes we camp overnight. I was looking for the right area."

The day shift CSI cleared his throat. "We also found samples of your DNA at a crime scene."

Tyler folded his arms idly. "Yeah, I saw the flashing lights, and went to check it out."

Catherine pursed her lips. "Do you own a gun, Mr. Tyler?"

Tyler blinked. "Well, yeah. All rangers are licensed to carry one".

Catherine nodded slowly. "Well, what I find interesting, Mr. Tyler, is that we found casings from a .33 calibre rifle at the crime scene. You see, all bullets have unique markings. Bullets in your rifle match the ones we found exactly."

For the first time, Brass saw a nervous tick develop on Tyler's lower jaw. Catherine pressed on, maintaining her calm façade. "See, here's what I think happened, Mr. Tyler. You were smart enough to use gloves when you handled the rifle, but not smart enough to realise that we could track you through the casings you left behind. You had a… relationship, with the victim, correct?"

When he didn't respond, she went on, voice lowering dangerously. "Valerie Reynolds, your ex-girlfriend? She worked at the ranger's station too, and several of your colleagues agree that they heard you having an argument that night before the end of your shift. You followed her out to the parking lot, right? It was a quiet night, and you'd been stewing over the whole thing long enough. Figured you couldn't let her get away with humiliating you in front of your friends, huh? I mean, sh e must have ended it, didn't she? But you couldn't let it go. So you shot her. And you dumped her body in the Park, careful to cover up your tracks.

"But you went home, and you realised you left something behind. I don't know, a watch, your wallet, what was it? So you went back to the scene. And you didn't realise the cops had been called, did you? You… panicked, I'm guessing, when they started combing the scene, and hid while you waited for them to leave, or for you to get a chance to split.

"Only it didn't work out that way, did it? The CSIs working the scene stumbled across you, and you really freaked then. You still had the rifle, and they saw that, and you got into a little tussle."

Catherine was really worked up now, and she didn't bother hiding it. "You shot Nick Stokes _five_ times, and disfigured his face so badly his family will barely be able to recognise his body. Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Tyler. You made a big mistake that night. You killed a law enforcement officer in full view of two witnesses, and if the evidence won't speak against you, then _they_ will. Why don't you stew about that for twenty-five years, to life?"

Tyler fingers clenched painfully into the flesh of his arms, and he obviously sensed he was gone. He straightened in his chair, eyes narrowing distastefully. "He should have gotten out of my way", he said darkly. "But he had to play hero. Bet he's not so tough now".

Catherine rose to her feet, chair screeching on the floor. Warrick whirled for the door in a sudden show of anger. "That's it".

"Warrick!" Brass yelled. He swore when Warrick shot out into the hall, and the door to the interrogation room slammed roughly against the wall as the black CSI stalked inside. He went straight for Tyler, seizing him by the lapels of his shirt, and lifting him from his chair, slamming him against the wall.

"You SON-OF-A-BITCH!" He yelled in his face, cutting off his air-supply by pressing his hands into his neck. "You think this is a joke, huh? You're looking at the DEATH SENTENCE, bro! You think that's funny? I DO! You killed one of our own, and don't think we won't see you fry!"

"WARRICK!" Catherine exclaimed, frantically rounding the table.

Brass quickly rushed into the room, but Detective Marlow was already on him, carefully tugging him from Tyler's thin frame. Tyler crumpled over, coughing into his fist pitifully as Warrick was forced to release him. Warrick glared down at him with the intensity of pure, unadulterated hatred.

Catherine grabbed him by the arm, gently but firmly tugging him out into the hall. "It's okay, it's over", she said softly, soothingly, forcing him to follow her.

Brass found his own gaze levelling darkly down at Tyler's pathetic, hunched figure. "You think it was worth it now?" he said coldly.

He felt Marlow's warning hand close on his broad arm, and he shook him off, striding out into the hall.

Warrick leant against the wall, nodding mutely as Catherine spoke to him softly. She rubbed his arm lightly, and Brass just stood in the middle of the hall, watching them with slight despair. He didn't think anyone was going to fault Warrick for what he did in there.

The cruel reality of what had just happened hit Brass for the first time, and he forced himself to sink unseeingly into a nearby chair. This wasn't like the death of Holly Gribbs. Nick was _one_ of them, and if it wasn't for how he had acted, two more of them would be down in the morgue.

He couldn't even allow himself to feel some measure of closure at the fact that they had found his killer. Nick had died in a fit of stupid, panicked passion, and it had been an unnecessary, meaningless occurrence.

Nothing was ever going to be the same after this. Nothing.

---

TBC…


	9. Chapter nine

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**Catherine**

The day of Nick Stokes funeral, Catherine stood in front of her mirror and studied her face emotionlessly.

Her concealer had barely managed to cover the dark black circles under her eyes, and as she straightened her plain, black dress, she realised the once figure hugging black fabric hung limply off her frame, and that she had lost weight.

She looked old. Funny, she tried not to think herself that way, and yet she realised that she was. She sighed deeply, clasping her handbag and heading for her car. Lindsey was staying with her sister for the night. She didn't even know if her daughter had wanted to come to the funeral. She hadn't asked.

Under the wrought iron, churchyard gates was a clustering of black-clad mourners, and she surveyed them listlessly as she parked the car, and strode slowly towards them, heels sinking in the damp green grass.

She could almost forget they were in flashy, sinful Las Vegas. The church was simple and modest, unlike most of its neighbouring buildings. Her blue eyes drifted through the mourners, struggling to discern which were Nick's relations. She wondered what they thought of it. She wondered if they had preferred he was buried in Texas.

The churchyard was filling up swiftly. She realised she hardly recognised more than half of its occupants. There were some from the lab, others from the precinct, and some from other aspects of Nick's life. All those gathered told a quiet story about his life, and she realised then that she had only been privy to a very small portion of Nick's life, and it saddened her.

An overhanging oak tree shaded a small patch of grass along the inner fence line, and she spotted Brass and Greg standing awkwardly apart. Greg sat on the fence, legs swinging over the edge like a child, and Brass stood nearby, arms solemnly linked. They were part of the unit, yet were both slightly on the fringes, and had nothing to say to one another.

Catherine watched them silently for a moment, and then strode up to them.

"Hey".

Bras struggled to hide his relief at her arrival, and failed miserably. "Hey Cath".

Greg muttered something monotonously from his perch on the fence, and she spared him a brief glance, wondering if he had permanently lost the lively energy that made him uniquely Greg.

She had heard that he had suffered some sort of emotional breakdown at a crime scene the other day, though Grissom and Sara hadn't said anything about it. As far as she could tell, Grissom had put his foot in it again and caused him to snap, and she could hardly blame him.

As much as Grissom pretended he didn't see it, they all gravitated around him, and he was the centre of their circle. He needed to acknowledge that they all respected and looked up to him whether he wanted it or not. He was their leader, and he was doing a sucky job of showing it. He was shutting himself off, and they were falling apart without him. Catherine didn't think she had the strength to hold them up alone.

"Are the others here yet?"

Brass shrugged, gazing around vaguely. "I haven't seen them. It's still early yet".

She nodded, following his gaze. Just as he said so, she made eye contact with Sara across the churchyard.

The brunette looked ethereal as she slowly strode towards them, dressed simply in a black v-neck dress and jacket, hair tucked absently behind her ears. She looked… fragile. In the past Catherine might have thought that was the last word she would use in association with Sara Sidle, but she knew Sara hid a lot behind a tough, no-nonsense exterior. Nick's death had just made it harder for her to hide.

She noticed Brass eye her over with paternal concern, and sighed deeply. _Just damn Grissom_, she thought darkly. _That's all I can say._

"Hey kiddo", Brass said evenly as she halted in front of them. "How you holding up?"

She shrugged. "Warrick called", she said, without answering Brass' question. She glanced at Catherine instead. "He said he's held up by traffic. He might be late".

Greg had slowly inched towards them now that Sara had arrived and he felt a little more comfortable invading their small circle, and Sara placed a comforting hand on his arm absently. He smiled slightly.

Catherine drew in a deep breath. "Has anyone spoken to Nick's family?"

Greg cleared his throat self-consciously. "I talked to Carrie, one of his sisters", he said quietly. "She said her parents probably won't be able to handle a wake."

Catherine nodded. They had agreed to hold a small gathering at her house after the service, but she hadn't really expected Nick's parents to come.

"She said they appreciated the gesture, though", he continued, frowning slightly.

Catherine smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Greg".

He shrugged, looking away. He stiffened slightly, and Sara instinctively followed his gaze, immediately coming into contact with something over Brass' shoulder. Her dark brown eyes hardened vaguely, and by the sickly pallor that had suddenly overtaken Greg's face, Catherine didn't need to ask where Grissom was.

Sara tugged on Greg's arm with abrupt urgency. "Let's go inside", she muttered.

Greg looked relieved to have a sudden escape route, and allowed her to quickly drag him away.

Brass and Catherine remained where they were, glancing up calmly when Grissom approached.

"Great job", Brass commented sarcastically. "You're getting really good at pushing people away. They should make a medal".

Grissom's blue eyes reflected something like hurt, and then he blinked, following Brass' gaze across the churchyard to Sara and Greg's departing backs. Catherine inwardly cursed Brass for his insensitivity. She knew he was frustrated with Grissom's actions, and so was she, but sarcasm wasn't the way to penetrate his walls.

"You really should talk to them, Gil", she said quietly.

Grissom glanced at her, studying her carefully. She sighed. "Remember Gil, you already lost one person."

She strode after the others without waiting for a response, as the other mourners began to filter into the church. She didn't glance back to see if Grissom or Brass were following her, but she figured one of them had to set the example. She wasn't surprised the responsibility fell to her.

---

TBC…


	10. Chapter ten

-

Warrick 

Of all the days to get caught in traffic, it had to be today.

The churchyard was empty when Warrick got there, and he stalked across it in long, rapid strides, quietly slipping inside the church interior.

The priest was wrapping up his sermon, and Warrick's eyes darted to the benches. The team, minus Grissom, an absence he found spoke volumes, were assembled at a pew at the back, and he swiftly slid onto the end beside Sara. He patted her gently on the leg, and she mustered a fleeting smile, keeping her eyes plastered ahead.

It was an unspoken acknowledgement to apologise for his words the other day, and it felt like their friendly rapport had been restored. They had been linked irrevocably by the events surrounding Nick's death, and Warrick thought that might be the one good thing to come of it. Nick would be pleased his two best friends were bonding in his wake.

It had taken Warrick a long time to calm down after the interrogation and subsequent arrest of Eric Tyler. Catherine had done good. They had airtight evidence against him. He and Sara might not even have to testify. It was all wrapped up in a neat, little package. It still didn't feel like enough. Warrick guessed it probably never would.

Warrick focused his attention to the front, just as Grissom emerged from nowhere, taking up the podium.

To say he was surprised Grissom was doing the eulogy was an understatement. Judging by the sudden tension in Sara's posture, he guessed she felt the same.

He wondered if his words would be a wooden, careful recitation of some pre-written speech, or the warm farewell Nick deserved.

Grissom surprised him. His eyes drifted across the crowd, seeking out his team, and he spoke clearly, without looking down once.

"'_Sunset and evening star,  
And one clear call for me,  
And may there be no moaning of the bar,  
When I put out to sea,  
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,  
Too full for sound and foam,  
When that which drew from out the boundless deep  
Turns again home._

Twilight and evening bell,  
And after that the dark,  
And may there be no sadness of farewell,  
_When I embark;  
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place  
The flood may bear me far,  
I hope to see my Pilot face to face  
When I have crost the bar.'_

"Nick Stokes was a trusted friend and colleague", he said after a pause, carefully clearing his throat. "I think we can all agree that he was the most reliable man we ever knew of. He was a lot more than that. He was a hero. In every sense of the word. Not just because he sacrificed himself for two of his best friends," Grissom glanced over Warrick, and then Sara, and Warrick unconsciously sought out Sara's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"-But because he came back to work everyday, just so he could help people. He made a connection with people. He met them on the worst day of their lives, and he did what he could to lessen their pain."

His gaze returned to the five of them in the back row, and Warrick knew his words were primarily for their benefit.

"My colleagues all know that I encourage them to stay detached, to avoid becoming personally involved in our cases. I've often been accused of being heartless… because I've become too good at that part of my job. Somehow Nick never let it get to him. He ignored my advice, and because of that I think he was a more effective CSI than I could ever hope to be. I think we could all learn something from Nick, not just on how to do our jobs, but also on how to become better human beings.

"In our line of work, we don't keep people alive or rescue them from danger often. But we save people. We allow them some closure in their lives. And all the people that Nick left behind, he saved in some way. They go on with their lives because of how he helped them. They're a testament to his memory.

"As Tennyson said, I think he would have faced his fate without looking away, without hesitation or fear. He wouldn't want that sacrifice to be in vain. He wouldn't want us all to grieve that he lived such a short life, but cherish the life that he did have. He had an impact on all of us just by being there, and in a way, I think he saved us too. I don't think I'll ever forget him. I don't think any of us will".

Grissom slowly stepped down from the podium, where the priest paused respectfully before he once again took his place, and Warrick let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

Around him, people sniffed and bowed their heads, and Warrick knew all five of them had been deeply touched and shocked by the depth of emotion Grissom brought into his speech.

Beside him, he saw Sara carefully wipe her eyes, and he rubbed the back of her hand smoothly.

For the first time, he felt a spark of guilt at doubting that Grissom's emotions were not in tap with their own. He had felt the sever of Nick's ties from their family just as all consuming as they had, but he had resisted showing it, and Warrick could not imagine what an immense agony it would be, to not be able to share that burden with others.

All he knew for sure was that Grissom was right. He and Sara had survived, and they would go on, because Nick died to save them, and they were the legacy he left behind. They would honour his memory the best way they could… by living.

-

TBC…

A.N. The poem Grissom recites is 'Crossing the Bar', by Lord Tennyson.


	11. Chapter eleven

A.N.: So this fic went wa--ay longer than it was originally supposed to, but I couldn't _help_ it, okay? Anyway, thanks to all of you who sent me such nice feedback, I really enjoyed reading it.

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**Grissom**

A sharp desert wind had kicked up when they reached the cemetery, turning the sky a foreboding shade of grey and shifting the clouds with a swift power, as if some heavenly force was aware they were in mourning and had adapted the weather to befit their mood, and was mocking Grissom for doubting in their existence.

The funeral party assembled around the shallow hole, waiting in hushed, monotonous whispers for the casket to arrive and the silent permission to return to their everyday lives.

Grissom stared straight ahead, standing on the fringes of the crowd, unable to maintain his mask of indifference as the reality of the situation washed over him.

He remembered delivering the eulogy, and staring out into the faces of his team. His family.

Brass, on the end, hard features grim and stoic, but with some deeper emotion swimming behind his eyes. Catherine, strong and beautiful, smiling slightly through the sudden tears that clouded her eyes, like some terrible burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Greg hunched in his chair so small and lost, looking a mixture of guilty and relieved with every new word. Sara, so ethereal and delicate, gazing up at him like some of her inner strength had been restored. And Warrick, staring at him with renewed faith shining in his eyes, relieved that his mentor had redeemed himself so thoroughly.

It didn't make it any better. They believed in him again, and it didn't make the pain in his heart lessen at all.

After that, the funeral was a blur, and he barely remembered how he drove here, or walked through the gates and stopped to stand where he was now.

He accepted the blank in his consciousness with little concern. Not remembering dulled the pain. He just wished he wasn't so singularly aware of this moment, as they prepared to lower Nick's body to the ground.

His attention was focused so levelly on the coffin as the priest began his final solemn speech that he barely felt the presence beside him until warmth brushed his side.

Sara came to a silent standstill at his shoulder, keeping her dark brown eyes on the priest instead of glancing at him. Grissom swallowed, returning his gaze to the casket just as the final prayer was uttered, and they began to lower him into the earth.

Sara didn't even peel her eyes away as she slid her hand silently through his, and for the first time in too long, he felt himself quietly accepting the comfort of another human being. Her fingers slid smoothly through his, and he closed his eyes at their warmth, feeling the tension and anxiety ebb from his body.

Sara gently rubbed the back of his palm, soothing him tenderly, and he realised in that moment that the power she had over his heart would only be handled delicately, that the trust he had resisted giving her had been set in place.

He released a deep sigh as he opened his eyes again, and he realised the service was over and mourners were beginning to move away, having finished paying their final respects.

"Mr. Grissom?"

A female voice broke through their silent communication, and both of them glanced up as a slightly plump, silvery haired woman stopped in front of them, biting her lower lip in what was probably a nervous habit. Her round, earnest brown eyes were red-rimmed but dry, and held a level of strength and silent courage Grissom immediately recognised.

"Mrs Stokes".

She nodded, smiling dimly. "I just wanted to tell you… what you said up there meant a lot. I don't know if Nicky ever told you… but I never entirely approved of his line of work. I never realised… that he helped people too. I'm glad to remember him that way. My son idolised you, Mr. Grissom, and I'm beginning to see why".

She touched him gently on the arm as he blinked back at her, helpless for words, but she didn't seem to need any. She nodded gently at Sara, and then strode away.

Grissom stared after her, drawing in an unsteady breath as he felt a burning start up in his throat.

Sara released his hand, striding around in front of him as he continued to blink. He felt the smattering of repressed emotions well in his heart and threaten to explode, and he stared down at Sara, struggling to convey to her the overwhelming forces threatening to break him.

"Sara…"

Wordlessly, she stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around him.

He felt himself leaning into her, closing his eyes as he bent his face into her neck, beard brushing against her soft skin, and felt the tears stain his cheeks before he realised he was crying.

She softly stroked his back, whispering senseless comforts in his ear as deep shakes ran through his body. He clutched her tighter; mindless of their surroundings as he clung to the only thing he knew or wanted at that moment.

Across the cloudy cemetery Catherine, Warrick, Brass and Greg stood in a quiet group, the only other figures left in the cemetery. They watched the goings on in silence; each individually relieved it was finally over.

Catherine quietly turned away from them, and touched Greg on the arm before moving forward. "Come on. Let's go".

The other three obediently followed her. They had lost one of their own but they had survived and they were still a family. That was what mattered.

**FIN**


End file.
